


Komorebi

by lost_decade



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 05:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: Jean-Éric can’t deny the beauty of the mountains. Even though most of the time he prefers skiing down them to hiking up – enjoys the après-ski almost as much – he’d be lying to himself if he said there was ever any chance of him passing up the opportunity to spend a few days alone with André.





	Komorebi

**Author's Note:**

> This was not what I was supposed to be writing this week. And yet.
> 
> Thanks to B for the title.
> 
> Inspired partly by André's hiking trip last week.

**_Komorebi_**  (木漏れ日) _-_ _sunshine filtering through the leaves of a tree_

 

Jean-Éric can’t deny the beauty of the mountains. Even though most of the time he prefers skiing down them to hiking up – enjoys the après-ski almost as much – he’d be lying to himself if he said there was ever any chance of him passing up the opportunity to spend a few days alone with André.  

The temperature dips the higher into the Tyrol they climb, the air growing thinner with altitude so that Jean-Éric feels almost as if he’s walking through a dreamscape, André his constant guide. They stop halfway through the day to refuel, Jean-Éric laughing as he watches André enthusiastically pissing into the bracken. 

It’s hours since they’ve seen another soul and the wildness and seclusion of the rocky landscape makes Jean-Éric feel a little crazed, impulsively yelling at the top of his lungs – nonsense words and the imitated roar of a big cat, André joining in with him, laughing and squeezing his shoulder in affection. 

There’s a strange quality to the light so high and Jean-Éric can’t help but pause and slide his pack off his shoulders, digging out his camera. The early afternoon sun filters through the branches of the silver firs that line the plateau between peaks, casting shadow all around, the soft haze of scattered sunbeams. Jean-Éric watches André walk ahead for a moment, studying the way he spins one of the walking poles a little when he isn’t using it, watching the set of his shoulders and the careful placement of his feet, how he takes care to avoid stepping on the hardy wildflowers.

“André,” he shouts, holding the camera up to his eye and snapping some photos, watching him turn. André poses for him, smiling his genuine wide smile, not the one for the media. Jev realises belatedly that he’s been following without question, trusting that André will always guide him along the right path.  

The daylight is just starting to fade when they get to the cabin, halfway up the Pleisenspitze, the sight of the small wooden structure nestled among the copper beeches inviting even if it does conjure up a few nervous slasher flick clichés. If Jev is entirely honest, the whole hiking up a mountain idea isn't really his thing generally and he'd much prefer to get his exercise in the gym or the occasional cycling expedition. However it was André's suggestion and the idea of having his teammate entirely to himself for a couple of days with no distractions was too much of an opportunity to pass up. Even so he's relieved when they get to the cabin before darkness, get out of the cold and into a hot shower.

They’d picked up some meat from the nearest village a few miles down the mountain and the cabin is stocked with wine and the small amount of groceries necessary for their short stay. Jev busies himself with chopping up some vegetables and trying to figure out how the oven works while André fetches some logs from the woodshed and lights the fire, Jev eventually giving up his haphazard attempts at pretending he's a regular at cooking before giving up and letting André take over. They’re both a little achy from the climb but in a good way, the tenderness in Jev’s muscles and the purity of the clean air making him feel alive.

There’s a tension between them as they sit down to eat, not exactly uncomfortable, more  _ charged _ , but noticeable enough that Jev worries he's been a little too petulant about the trip, that André might prefer to have James or someone else here too.

André is quiet the way he sometimes can be when they're entirely alone, Jev longing to ask what he's thinking but unsure how to. It's easier to joke a little, to talk about the upcoming season and pick over details from testing than to touch on anything he truly wants to. After all, if it goes wrong it's not like he can just walk out and go home.

The wine stains Jev’s lightly chapped lips a little as he drinks and he feels more than slightly self-conscious when they've put their plates aside and André reaches for his camera, snapping a photo of him, telling him how nice it is to see him eating and drinking well, taking enjoyment from it.

After dinner they open another bottle and end up pulling the cushions off the sofa and piling them around the huge thick rug in front of the fire. It’s warm with the heat of the flames, the hiss and crackle comforting, making Jev think of winters staying in ski lodges with his family.

André pulls his sweater off over his head, catching the way Jev’s eyes are drawn to the strip of skin above his waistband as his t-shirt rides up at the motion, their eyes meeting briefly but neither of them saying anything. André stares at him the same way he always does, making Jev feel as if he can see inside his head. He stares back - because he can, because André has never told him not to.

*

By the time Jean-Éric has beaten André at backgammon a half dozen times the sky outside is filled with stars and there’s a nice buzz settling under Jev’s skin. There’s no TV, no Wi-Fi, which is actually pretty annoying as the whole cabin is very Instagrammable, nothing else really to do other than tell stories, campfire stuff that reminds Jev of being a kid. He hangs on André’s every word, soaking up tales about his dad, and then watching as André stares into the flowing shift of the flames as he recounts the loneliness of his very first winter in Japan, how he’d been so young and homesick, almost shyly admitting that he’s never shared those feelings with anyone before.

Jev reaches out to run his fingers down the side of André’s face, emboldened by wine and longing. It seems to break the spell of the memory, André glancing at him with something in his eyes that he’s never seen before, and Jev feels a deeper understanding of him than ever.

“I know how it is to be alone,” Jev says, his breath catching as André turns his head and presses his lips so softly against Jev’s palm.

“You should open that whiskey we brought,” André tells him, turning away to throw another log onto the fire.

The Yamakakura is luscious, rich earth and the soft sweetness of caramel that lingers on Jean-Éric’s tongue. André stretches out wincing a little and rubbing at his shoulder. They’ve never been shy about touching each other before, something so tactile about their friendship even since the beginning, and Jev doesn’t hesitate to slide behind André and press his thumbs to André’s shoulder blades, kneading out the knots.

“You feel really warm,” Jev whispers, his hands sliding lower, up beneath André’s t-shirt and mapping over the planes of his back, touching the bumps of his spine. André lets him, tipping his head back invitingly enough that Jev can’t stop himself from pressing his lips to André’s neck, trailing barely-there kisses over the sensitive skin, delighting in the way that André shivers.

Jean-Éric thinks back to when they were in Tokyo, that one group photo he’d seen in James’ apartment and the man who’d been sitting on André’s lap, the way André’s hand had been resting possessively at the side of the guy’s neck. It had answered a question that Jean-Éric had been afraid to ask, had unleashed the part of him that sensibly said he should hold back, that it was all just banter and that when André wore that vintage grid girls t-shirt it was because he wanted to be seen as the sort of playboy who’d take a girl home and give her the best night of her life and never call again, because he’d found a way to create a smokescreen that no one would see through.

It’s such a contrast to the considered but open approach that Jean-Éric has always taken, choosing his partners carefully but having no qualms at the same time about being seen leaving clubs with them, girls and guys alike, trusting that his friends and colleagues would respect his privacy enough to keep it quiet. After the destruction wreaked on him by F1 he hadn’t much cared who knew what about him anyway.

“Did you just invite me here this weekend to go hiking?” Jean-Éric asks as André twists around in his arms, allowing Jev to pull his t-shirt off and kissing him hard, his tongue pushing demandingly into Jean-Éric’s mouth as his hands grip the sides of Jev’s face, fingers sliding back into his hair. Jean-Éric moans into the kiss, consumed by the urgency of André’s touch.

“Does that answer your question,” André says teasingly as they part for breath. Jev lifts his arms to allow André to take his t-shirt off, biting his lip at the way the older driver’s gaze lingers on his naked chest appreciatively as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” André says heatedly, pushing him onto his back. Jev goes with it, relaxing into the pillows as André climbs on top of him, running his fingers over Jev's chest and pinching at his nipples.

“André,” Jev moans, needy enough that he’ll blush later when he thinks back on it. Looking up at André silhouetted in the glow of the fire he feels a sense of almost unreality, as if he’s caught in a vivid fantasy.

André takes a deep breath when Jev slides his hands up his thighs, over his straining erection, and Jev is overcome with the need to touch him, to feel him hot and hard in his hand. He reaches for André’s belt, undoing the buckle and popping open the buttons, slipping his hand inside to trace the shape of his dick. The material is damp with precome and Jev aches to taste him, to press his mouth there and suck him through the cotton.

“Stay there,” André instructs after a few moments of Jev stroking him, “and take off your jeans.” He’s gone for a minute or two, long enough for Jev to struggle out of his skinny jeans and raise the bottle of whiskey to his lips, taking a long gulp for courage. André pauses when he walks back into the room, completely naked and holding condoms and lube in one hand and his Leica M6 in the other. Jev stretches out on the rug, leaning back on his elbows as he lets his eyes rove over André’s body, gasping when André drops to his knees and crawls up over him.

“You have no idea how good you look,” André says, kissing his way up Jev’s chest, biting at his nipples until Jev is clenching his fingers in the rug. Jean-Éric moans his name breathlessly, shuddering when André licks at his throat, all soft kisses and grazing teeth.

“André, fuck,” Jev’s hands scrabble at André’s back, pulling him closer so their erections press together, André moaning against his throat. Jev feels hot all over, shaky and desperate and longing for André to touch him, for his cock, his fingers, his mouth. “Please,” Jev begs him, unashamed of how quickly he’s unravelling. André kisses him again, slow and deep, his tongue playing against Jev’s skilfully, nipping at his lips occasionally. He tastes of the salt and copper of the rare beef they ate for dinner, the richness of the whiskey, and Jean-Éric can’t recall the last time he ever wanted someone so much.

André slides down Jean-Éric’s body, nuzzling at his belly and kissing wetly along the waistband of his underwear, his own cock leaving a trail of wetness down Jean-Éric’s thigh as he moves. Jev arches up into his touch, lifting his hips for André to pull his boxers down, biting back a gasp when André slowly and deliberately flicks his tongue over the slit of his cock, wrapping one hand firmly around the base and then using the tip of one finger to rub through the fluid that's leaking from the tip. Jean-Éric feels as though every nerve ending in his body is attuned to the movement, he writhes against the touch, sweating and shaking. André lets him go, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his cock in some kind of torturous compromise, but then Jev feels his thumb brush over the skin behind his balls, teasing further back over his asshole and making his cock jump. There's no way he'll last long enough to come with André inside him.

“André, I need…” he tries, and maybe it's the desperation in his voice but André relents, crawling over him again, bracketed by Jev's thighs.   


Jev throws his head back, baring his neck to André’s mouth, his hands scrabbling behind him to grab onto the squishy softness of the cushions. He fists his hands into the material as André licks over his pulse point, trying to suppress a groan. They fit together so seamlessly, Jev tall and lithe as the wild cats that brought them to each other, André that fraction taller, perfectly poised to pin him down with his bulk. Their legs are pressed together, feet touching playfully enough that it anchors Jev in reality even as nothing else about this feels real. 

“Oh fuck, Jev,” André’s cock slides along the crease of Jean-Éric’s thigh, the sensation threatening to unravel Jean-Éric completely. André’s dick is smooth against Jev’s skin and when he adjusts his position so his cock is nudging against Jev’s it’s almost too much. Jev scratches at André’s back, sliding a hand up into his hair to press him closer as he shifts his hips up, the two of them moving together as they find a rhythm. André licks at him more than kisses him now, breath shared between their mouths. Jean-Éric can feel the heat and wetness of André's cock rubbing against his own, can feel himself getting close, grabbing at André's shoulders and whining when André reaches a hand down between their bodies to stroke him.

“Be loud,” André tells him shakily, “there's no one else around for miles,” and does something with his fingers that makes Jev almost sob with how good it feels. He moans and curses as he comes, not holding back at all, raking his hands down André's sweat-soaked back and digging his fingers into his arse cheeks, grinding his cock against André's even though the aftershocks render him almost too sensitive. André lifts his head to look at Jean-Éric dazedly, thrusting against his hip a couple more times until he groans Jev's name softly and Jev feels the slick wet heat of André's come coating his stomach.

*

“We don't have to make it to the summit,” Jev says some hours later, the fire dwindled enough that they should really fetch some more logs from outside. He's sore and aching, from the hike and from André's touch on him, in him, but it's a good kind of sore, stretched and tenderised. There's lube matting the corner of the rug and they'll definitely need to wash the cushion covers before they leave but Jev finds himself not caring. “We could just stay here instead.”

“We're making it to the summit after first light,” André says with a wry smile that makes Jev feel young and giddy and alive. “Then we come back here and try out the bed.”

Jev just laughs and yawns, pulling André into his arms and closing his eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes André does really have that t-shirt.


End file.
